


Peculiar Learning

by Youneedwhat



Category: Hannibal (TV), The Humans - Matt Haig
Genre: Aliens, Angst with a Happy Ending, Hannibal Lecter is Not a Cannibal, Hannibal was a mathematician, M/M, Married Couple, Out of Character, Slow Burn, The Humans - Freeform, based off a book
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-02 10:20:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,317
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20274340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Youneedwhat/pseuds/Youneedwhat
Summary: The alien who wore Hannibal Lecter’s body was here for business, not pleasure. He had a checklist of chores to check off:1. Kill Hannibal Lecter. (Done)2. Destroy all evidence of his work. (Not done)3. Kill anyone who the late doctor shared his work with. (Not done as well)(The Humans AU)





	Peculiar Learning

Hannibal Lecter, naked and unashamed, had been wandering around Marriottsville, Maryland for about an hour.

Well, in truth, the man who resembled Hannibal Lecter was not, in fact, Hannibal Lecter. And the being was also not wandering, or at least not aimlessly. He had a purpose of being there.

There. As on this planet.

Not Marriottsville, Maryland. 

The alien who wore Hannibal Lecter’s body was here for business, not pleasure. He had a checklist of chores to check off:

1\. Kill Hannibal Lecter. (Done)

2\. Destroy all evidence of his work. (Not done)

3\. Kill anyone who the late doctor shared his work with. (Not done as well)

This being did not know the ins and outs of Hannibal Lecter’s life. Yes, he had his body, along with his brain, but he didn’t have anything that his brain stored. Hannibal’s thoughts, feelings, hopes, dreams, and fears were put through a shredding machine.

Hannibal Lecter was dead.

But despite not knowing the intimacy of Lecter’s brain, the extraterrestrial’s employers did fill in some of the gaps.

Hannibal Lecter was born on November 22nd, 1965 in Aukstaitija, Lithuania. He was orphaned as a boy and lost his sister shortly after. He came from a rich family and lived his adolescent years in a boarding school in France. He moved to Baltimore, Maryland and went to Med school to become a surgeon, yet quickly realized mathematics was his passion. He did this for about ten years but then moved to the psychiatry field, after years of failure. Hannibal, even after becoming a licensed psychiatrist, was obsessed with solving a mathematical equation that would change human society forever. He wanted to solve a formula that would extend earthling life, achieve world peace, create life-saving medicine, advance human education, and usher man to a point where man had never gone before.

Hannibal was utterly desperate to solve the equation. And he did.

But now he was dead.

An alien killed him.

The alien, who was Hannibal’s host now, did not have a name. Names, like most of human culture, was a construct that remained useless by society outside of Earth. Names, from the small knowledge Hannibal’s host had of Earth, was used to create individuality among members of the human race. He, like the rest of his people, saw no use for names or seeking individuality from each other. Yet, he was also undercover. So, the galactic being decided it would be for the best to adopt a name temporairly. The name of his host.

Hannibal.

It would make playing along easier.

Hannibal did not wish to stay long on Earth. He watched humans walk pass him, tempting the contents of his new, human stomach to rise to his throat. There was something so repulsive about the human body, with long, multiple limbs and awkward noses. Their eyes one too many and wide as Hannibal walked passed them. Everyone’s attention seemed to be on him.

He started to put together that human clothes may also be a construct of human creation that appeared to be mandatory. Everyone around him was covered with thick fabrics and clothes, while Hannibal was not. He stared at the clothed humans and realized that clothes may only be a seasonal thing, something to protect them from the while flakes that came from above. Hannibal believed the human word for it was snow, but he was unsure. At best, he was a layman of the human languages.

Hannibal, unable to discover where his victim’s home maybe, decided to take a detour to remedy this issue. He briskly looked around until he saw thin sheets of paper packed together, human symbols covering the pages. The papers were held together by thin bars and had a small shelter above them that protected the thin materials from the snow.

The alien walked towards the papers and picked one up. It took Hannibal a few seconds, but the more he read, the more he understood. Vorants, Hannibal’s species, were quick learners of foreign languages. Hannibal himself knew an estimate of 134 languages and dialects.

Hannibal seemed to be learning a particular earthling language, apparently known as English, as he read and read the black and white newspaper in his hand. So far, Hannibal had learned that the lower-class were upset with the upper-class, the upper-class were upset with the lower-class for being upset with the upper-class, and dolphins, appearing to be fascinating, aquatic creatures were in danger.

“You gonna pay for that?” A voice asked.

It took Hannibal a matter of seconds to realize the voice was speaking to him. Apparently, humanity used eye contact as a way of establishing when one was communicating with another. Hannibal tried to look at the body that belonged to voice, but he still had a hard time stomaching the sight of the human body.

He continued to look down at the newspaper instead. “Hello, may I help you?” Hannibal asked, testing the vowels and syllables on his tongue. His speech felt unfamiliar and foreign, but he could see the human man understood his words.

“Yeah,” The man said, “Could you put on some fucking clothes? And while you’re at it, pay for the fucking paper, asshole.”

Hannibal cringed at the word ‘fucking.’ He began to wonder if this word was a fixture in human conversation, he hoped not. Hannibal found the word unappealing to the ear.

“Are you fucking listening?”

Despite the anger radiating off the random man, Hannibal stayed in place, still reading about saving the dolphins. “Yes.”

The stranger seemed to be expecting a certain reaction from Hannibal, yet Hannibal did not give it to him. Hannibal was now discovering that humans enjoyed cause and effect when being in a discussion, but it seemed to the alien that the effect always had to match the cause. And if it didn’t, humans quickly become irrational. He found this case was no different.

The man, face red from the cold and frustration, stomped away from Hannibal. “I’m calling the fucking cops.”

Hannibal believed “cop” was a term for the figures who maintained order for human civilization. He felt relief uncoil in his stomach, knowing that maybe these “cops” could help Hannibal find the real Hannibal’s office.

“Thank you,” Hannibal called out to the man, but the man did not respond verbally. He instead lifted his fist in the air and stuck up one of his fingers. Hannibal thought this was a possible greeting in earthling society, so he returned the gesture.

Once the man disappeared into a shop near the newspaper stand, Hannibal returned to his reading. He finished his article on dolphins and moved to a piece about the growing issue of the human population. Hannibal read article after article until he had read every single word written on the bunched-up papers. He tried to grab another to resume his reading, but he found the newspapers were all the same. Hannibal did not understand the use or interest of that, but he didn’t really understand much of human culture.

“Excuse me, sir?”

Hannibal looked up, intrigued by the number of strangers coming to speak to him. Was this another earth custom?

“You’re going to have to come with me.” A woman said, her body covered in dark clothing. She had a belt around her waist that seemed to hold a small object at her side. Her shirt was lined with buttons, dark like her shirt, and something metal hung from her chest.

Hannibal put two and two together. “Are you the police?”

The woman nodded, “Yes, sir. Please, you’re going to have to come with me.”

“Yes,” Hannibal responded, “But could you help me find something first? I need to go 687 Bayshore Avenue – Suite 200, Baltimore, MD, 21161.”

Hannibal wondered if he possibly messed up the language he had just learned because the woman frowned and bunched her eyebrows together. “Sir, if you don’t come with me, I will have to use force.”

Hannibal frowned, upset by this woman’s confusion with his task. “Thank you for your assistance, but I believe it is no longer needed.”

The woman’s pink lips pulled downwards, and Hannibal felt discomfort in his stomach once more. Lips maybe Hannibal’s least favorite part of the human body.

Hannibal moved to turn away, but the woman grabbed one of his arms from behind. Flustered and confounded by this woman’s sudden act of violence, Hannibal tried to escape her grasp. But as he struggled, the woman pulled a black rectangular object from her side and applied it against Hannibal’s body. When the object connected to Hannibal’s skin, he dropped to the ground, weak from the buzzing racing through his body.

The police officer held a different device up to her mouth, standing above a collapsed Hannibal. “Hey, we have a 10-15.”

Hannibal began to wonder what a 10-15 meant and why humanity insisted on constantly speaking in riddles, despite being a low intelligence life form planet.

None of this made any sense to Hannibal.

\- - - - - 

As it turned out, clothing was less of something encouraged, but instead something mandatory.

Hannibal was now adorned in clothing, thin material that clung to his body. He could understand the appeal of warmth the materials gave off, but the alien mostly found it a nuisance. Far too restrictive for one to be useful, and the cheap material also felt like sandpaper against his skin. Hannibal knew that much despite not knowing, at that moment, what sandpaper was.

He appeared to be in a room all by himself, which was confusing. He did not understand why they gave him such a space for only himself and no one else. Hannibal was sitting in a cold, metal chair that was placed in front of a long table with nothing on it. He felt a little bit of laughter rise from his throat, a table with nothing on it amused him. It was useless. It made him wonder why there was even a table there in the first place.

Hannibal’s thoughts on the table were interrupted when a man, not dressed in a dark police uniform, but instead a dark suit, walked to the other metal chair in the room, the one unoccupied.

“Hello, Mr. Lecter. Do you know why you’re in here?” He asked.

“I was told my lack of clothing was less than ideal.”

Hannibal’s answer caused the man to let out a small chuckle, but the alien did not understand why. He thought earthlings only laughed at other earthling’s failures and a contraption called a television.

“Yes, now from our understanding. It would seem you are a bit…out of sorts.” The man said, and Hannibal agreed. He did not truly understand what that phrase meant, but he also believed he was more than “a bit” out of whatever sorts this stranger was speaking of.

“Now,” The man stated, leaning forward, giving the table a purpose by placing his elbows upon it. “We looked you up, Dr. Lecter. And wow, you have…quite the reputation.”

“Meaning?”

“Meaning,” He said, “We are aware that walking around naked and stealing newspapers is not your regular behavior, doctor. So, we’re bringing in a psychiatrist to come give you a psych eval, she even seems to be a colleague of yours.”

Hannibal did not understand why the man kept repeating “we,” as if there were more of him.

“We also called your husband.”

Hannibal perked up at that, he did not know Dr. Lecter was married. He felt better now after finally gaining some information for his mission. If anyone knew about the late doctor's discovery, it would be his partner.  
He was excited about this piece of news, despite his weariness of pretending to be someone’s spouse.

Where Hannibal was from, marriage was another construct created by humans to establish something in a more official capacity. Hannibal did not understand the point of such a ceremony, but he could not argue its fame amongst other lifeforms. Marriage’s popularity had become so large, it was now a common practice on other planets as well.

But not for the Volants.

Not for Hannibal.

“My Husband?” Hannibal questioned, hoping to draw out the name of his partner whom's existence he had known nothing about.

“Yes, from what I know, he’ll be here shortly.” The man answered, not giving the information Hannibal wanted.

“Oh…good.”

“Alright, I’m going to give you some alone time. Let you talk to your husband soon.”

And with that, the man in the suit was gone, leaving Hannibal all alone with his empty seat and useless table.

His employers did not mention a husband, but they also did inform him to eliminate anyone close to Lecter who could be a threat. Hannibal did not like the unsureness that lingered in the air. He was still learning earthling customs, such as their dress code policy. He wished he could say he expected better about details from his employers but saying so would be a lie.

The species he came from were essentially lawless, for they required none. Volants were not humane, but they were not violent either. Murder was heard of but not excessive, it only happened in instances where the victims deserved it. Yet, people on earth hold certain standards on those who deserve to die, morals they uphold and preserve. The only morals on Hannibal’s planet were based upon shunning the boorish and brute.

Rudeness was the worst offense.

And with that, certain expectations were held. No one was coddled, and mercy was sparse. Volants were expected to simply know, and not have to be taught.

Hannibal heard the door creaking open before he saw someone standing in the doorway. The man was wearing different clothes than the other men who had been coming and going into the room. The man did not adorn a suit but instead, brown dress pants with a salmon-colored shirt tucked under it. He was holding his coat, folded up, in his hands.

He did not move from the doorway. No, instead he watched Hannibal with his blue eyes, narrowed, waiting for something. This seemed to be the doctor’s husband. And it also seemed he was like the rest of humanity, waiting for a reaction.

“Hello,” Hannibal said. He figured that was the correct greeting for the situation. Apparently, he was wrong. The husband’s lips turned downward, frowning.

“Hannibal,” He said as he made his way to the empty chair that the suit-wearing man sat in only minutes ago. “Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes.”

The husband, or, now, his husband scoffed, “You’re in a holding cell for public nudity, Hannibal.”

“Well, I guess how that might seem.”

He actually could not guess how that might seem, but it felt like the proper response.

“Hannibal,” His husband sighed, rubbing his eyes aggressively.

Hannibal continued to find himself repulsed by humans and their odd shape. But, despite his distaste for their structure, Hannibal could understand that for humans, his spouse was handsome. His blue eyes had a hypnotizing quality to them, and his features were graceful for an earthling.

He was still disgusting, but he was a refined disgusting.

“I don’t even know why I’m surprised this is happening. You have always overworked yourself, but these last months especially.” Will said, causing Hannibal to suddenly put his mind back on track with his mission.

“Yes,” Hannibal said, “And you know this because of how much I share with you about my work.”

Hannibal wanted to affirm that Lecter had shared his discovery with his husband, but for once, Hannibal was on the receiving end of an unexpected reaction. His husband let out a bitter chuckle, “I didn’t marry you because you were funny, Hannibal. Don’t try to start now.”

Hannibal frowned while his husband just shook his head. “I’m sorry. I-I don’t want to fight. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“We can talk about it,” Hannibal offered, “I’m finding people do not want to talk about what they actually want to talk about, but instead engage in pointless conversations to distract themselves from it.”

“Hannibal, I’m not playing therapist and patient with you right now. You need help.”

Hannibal wanted help. He wanted help very badly.

But something about his husband’s tone made it sound like Hannibal’s version of help, and his version of help were vastly different.

“I think I will manage,” Hannibal responded.

This caused another bitter chuckle to rise out of the man who sat in front of him. Hannibal was beginning to wonder if that was all he was capable of. “Don’t try to minimize this. The police have already told me that you're having gaps in your memory. And don’t get me started on exhibiting bizarre behavior.”

“Who decides what behavior is bizarre and what behavior isn’t?” Hannibal asked, genuinely curious.

“God? Magazines? I don’t know what you want me to say. But, Hannibal, don’t deny it. You are acting…odd.”

Hannibal was beginning to feel trapped in this conversation, he wanted to move onto his mission, but he was certain this man was going to be an obstacle. His spouse seemed to notice Hannibal’s uneasiness because concern began to sprinkle into his gaze.

He reached his hand to cover Hannibal’s. “This will all be sorted soon. Alana is coming tomorrow morning for the psych evaluation. I mean, Chilton jumped at the chance, but I know you’d rather stick nails in your eyes than talk to him about your…episode.”

His husband’s words never truly reached Hannibal’s ears as he was too distracted looking at the hand touching his. He found himself squeamish about touching humans, but he could see why they enjoyed it.

His husband’s hands were warm.

“Abigail is worried sick about you.”

“Abigail?”

“Yes, Abigail,” His spouse repeated, “Your daughter, Hannibal.”

Of course.

Of course, he had a husband and a daughter.

“Yes, Abigail. Of course, I hope she is okay.”

“Yeah,” He sighed, “Yeah, me too.”

“And Abigail,” Hannibal said, trying to assess the situation. “We are close.”

Will’s mouth widened into a rueful smile, teeth bared and all. “As close as you can be with someone, Hannibal.”

Hannibal frowned once more.

Lecter’s husband seemed to enjoy talking in riddles, making jokes that Hannibal did not understand. He found it frustrating beyond reason.

“Well,” Hannibal said, steering the conversation. “When should we leave?”

“Hannibal,” His spouse answered, his voice exasperated, “You’re not going anywhere. At least not until Alana clears you. Now,” His husband removed his hand off Hannibal’s and stood up from his chair abruptly, “I’m going to check in with Abigail. I’ll be back tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Hannibal asked, not wanting to spend any longer in this establishment than he had too.

His husband ignored the question in his voice and walked towards the door, “Don’t cause any trouble, just do what they tell you.”

Hannibal remained frozen in his seat as he watched his husband reach for the door in front of him but quickly stop. He seemed stuck, just lingering there, unmoving, his back turned to Hannibal. The alien wanted to say something, but he figured he would let his husband be.

This turned out to be the right choice.

“Hannibal,” His spouse said quietly, turning his body slightly towards Hannibal’s direction, but not completely. “I know our marriage hasn’t been…easy. But I do love you. You know that.”

His husband’s confession left Hannibal unsure of what to say next. But, as it turned out, he truly didn’t need to worry because the moment his spouse was finished speaking, he was gone.

Hannibal stared at the door he left through for a while, finding the whole thing unusual. But it wasn’t long until his thoughts returned to his mission. He didn’t believe his husband knew a thing about why Dr. Lecter no longer resided in the land of the living. But his daughter?

He will have to see about her.


End file.
